Suggesting that God does, perhaps, exist, this article will discuss neither Jane Austen, my personal sex life nor a terrifying combination of both. Rather, what I want to write about today is something quite different: the Talk.
One amazing thing at Stanford is the availability of expert opinion, frequently accessible to all in the form of talks. While I conduct continuous love affairs with ideas, actually getting me to a speaking event is a problem of its own. If it is fall, I am busy outdoors tromping in fallen leaves; winter, and I am tucked up in my thermal blanket drinking homemade honey chai; spring, and I am in the sun, napping on random hammocks and falling off them when I roll around in my sleep.
In a surprising turn of events, however, I was seduced by the temptation of catered chicken Caesar salad last Friday afternoon. Starving and armed with a thinking cap on my head, I headed to the A3C for a Spring Quarter Luncheon, led by Dr. Celine Shimizu. I sat attentively for an hour, salad in my belly. At the end of the hour, I left, brain in a tizzy. While Dr. Shimizu had covered many a topic in her specialized domain–in particular, male Asian-American sexuality in film–what hit home was a much broader point about the way we construct notions of sexuality in general.
The most illuminating implication of Dr. Shimizu’s research, I believe, is that sexuality is not sex alone. While this understanding of sexuality probably exists in the backs of our minds, the fact that it is not at the forefront is problematic. We threaten to reduce eroticism to pornographic thrusting, or limit the target of our sexual encounters to the orgasm. Having, as a freshman, had my mind exploded by the kinds of porn my fellow residents watched, I believe that I at least partially understand the dehumanizing possibilities of what constitutes sexuality. Pornography focuses solely on sex for a purpose, but it is important to understand that it is rarely reality nor–in my opinion–should it be. Sexuality has the potential to encompass a more human aspect, and I’m not even talking about love. There exist, in addition, concepts of emotional intimacy that evoke senses of protection, security and attachment. Even something as simple as enjoying the company of a partner complicates but also enriches what sexuality means.
What the talk revealed was not that relating sex to sexuality is taboo or wrong in any way. It simply suggested that we consider sex as a subset rather than an equivalent. Limiting ourselves to narrow definitions of sexuality and the role sexuality plays in our lives does not simply have effects on gender roles, nor does it just reinforce human behavior patterns in possibly violent ways. It also restricts our scope of latent sexual possibilities, possibilities that may be more appropriate for certain numbers of us, considering that we are all individuals with different needs and desires.
The curious thing about talks like this however, is whether one can translate theoretical concepts into large-scale action. They often impact only certain members of their audience. Trying to convince large numbers of people to change their behavior patterns based on a lecture alone is sometimes frustrating; people are either too lazy or too comfortable in their present state of behavior. Yet if talks are supposed to initiate change, and if change seems significant only on a wide scale, does the idea of a “talk” become, then, futile?
One interaction after the talk made me realize that sometimes, the most golden of changes are the ones that we direct internally; if we are one of the “certain members” impacted, that is what matters the most.
In an attempt to sort my head out, I struck up a conversation with an upstanding young gentleman whom I had met perhaps thrice before. We ended up having a brain-jarring conversation. In the ensuing time that we spoke, I discovered how the talk made him rethink not only sexuality, but also masculinity and the link between the two–from a personal point of view. By diverging from the traditional descriptions of what masculine sexuality is–dominance, aggression and emotional callousness, to name a few–and including within the definition protection, care and emotional sensitivity, he was able to internalize the academic content of the talk and translate it into a feeling of greater masculinity for himself.
That, I feel, is what made the talk truly memorable for me. Past the intellectual stimulation of what it was, the content of the talk had changed somebody’s perception of themselves. It had also challenged my own assumptions about sexual beings. It made me consider, for one, how I could think about emotional sensitivity as potentially sensual. It also made me consider what kind of role a sense of protection could play in enhancing a person’s physical sexuality.
And I found myself learning–even though I never really fell victim to these traditional definitions to begin with. After all, I have a great passion for dorks. I have also historically (and perhaps cheaply) been charmed by those sensitive enough to want to protect me, be it from the cold, evil people, sadness or allergens. Yet, there is something different between liking a dork and sexualizing the concept of a dork. There is a difference between liking sensitivity and realizing that sensitivity can be distinctly male.
That was how I came out of the talk with more than just a sudden muffin-top of chicken Caesar salad. More than that, I came out with a need to probe my assumptions, to know which have been imposed on me and which I really believe in, and how I can differentiate between the two.
Has a talk killed you softly with its song? Would you like to kill Sam softly with yours? Email her at [email protected] .